


london [bridge] is falling down (not clickbait)

by _bspctcldwrites (dashinaname)



Category: Gameboys (Web Series 2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CaiReel week 2020, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Day 1, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sentimental, Volleyball, caireel as volleyball geeks, lgbtq+, london and cairo's brotherhood front and center, london's kuya struggles, lots of introspection, other characters mentioned in passing, outsider pov, paris may still be asleep i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashinaname/pseuds/_bspctcldwrites
Summary: London would be lying if he said he couldn’t remember a time when he was the only child. Being a couple of years Cairo’s senior, he knew the exact moment he became an older brother.One day, his mother was missing the bump that had sat on her belly for a long, long while, so long in fact that he’d gained a few millimeters to his height. And just like that, London had a baby brother.---Where London tries and fails a lot, but succeeds in the end. He had to; after all, Cairo could only have one kuya in this lifetime.caireel week 2020, day 1lgbtq+, outsider pov, childhood friends au
Relationships: Gavreel Alarcon/Cairo Lazaro, London Lazaro & Cairo Lazaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39
Collections: CaiReel Week 2020





	london [bridge] is falling down (not clickbait)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, I hope you read the tags before you clicked on this. If you didn't, now is your last chance to cast your eyes on them before you proceed.
> 
> This was a challenge to write after my hiatus and I'm running on two hours of sleep so if I missed any tags, please do yell at me in the comments. I am not above apologizing and I am always eager to learn, okay?
> 
> Happy CaiReel week! :)

London would be lying if he said he couldn’t remember a time when he was the only child. Being a couple of years Cairo’s senior, he knew the exact moment he became an older brother.

One day, his mother was missing the bump that had sat on her belly for a long, long while, so long in fact that he’d gained a few millimeters to his height. And just like that, London had a baby brother.

It took a lot of getting used to—being an older brother, that is—when he had spent his entire life _not-being_. But soon enough London grew into it like the new pair of shoes their mother gifted for his birthday that year, a size larger then and a few months later already hugging his feet snug so he could run without stumbling over nothing.

London remembered everything, but Cairo didn't. He was born into the world knowing there was London, and that London was his _kuya_. There was absolutely no time in his life Cairo couldn't remember not having an older brother named London.

Sometimes, London thought it was a blessing.

For one, London had an instant admirer. A certain level of satisfaction was guaranteed from having someone look up to you, and that your baby brother considered you his hero was the best feeling to revel in as an older sibling. For a while it was easy, being Cairo's hero. London was given the title the moment of Cairo’s birth, set in stone when one-year-old Cairo scaled the crib and almost broke his neck if not for London who slid across the floor and stretched out his boy arms in the nick of time. Cairo didn’t cry, but he stared at London with those large, honest eyes, small mouth curling in what could only be awe, and burst into a laughing fit that until now London could hear as echoes in his dreams. 

(Afterwards, London lay on his back, raising Cairo in the air with his knees. Cairo slid down towards him, giggling without fear of a pair of arms vanishing, and London was there to catch him. Again, and again, and again.)

For another, Cairo was there to welcome him home at the end of a school day. As an infant, he would coo at the sound of London’s, “I’m home!” until he learned to crawl and attempt to push off of the floor to stand and inch towards London by the foyer. (The first time he did manage to take a single step without stumbling, London sobbed, and Cairo, ever prompt to emulate his hero, threw his head back and wailed.) As a child, he would glide on his socks across the corridor all the way from his room to meet London as he untied his shoelaces, an eager albeit standard, “How’s practice, _kuya_?” flying out of his lips that had _always_ been lifted to an honest smile reserved for only his _Kuya_ London.

But being the older brother could be a curse, too.

***

London would be lying if he said he couldn’t remember a time when being an older brother was easy, but he would also be lying if he claimed he couldn’t remember the exact point in time when being Cairo’s _Kuya_ London became _not_ -easy.

It wasn’t when Cairo began asking for help doing his homework, or when Cairo began asking questions about volleyball, or when Cairo began locking his bedroom door in petulance whenever London pulled a number to tease him, like that instance he kept singing _If We Hold on Together_ the morning after seeing the dinosaur film that Cairo was adamant he _didn’t_ cry to.

It was when Cairo’s world expanded and he remained closed off to kids his age by choice. London knew from when Cairo first fell and cried not from the pain of his bottom being acquainted with the floor but from witnessing London’s waterworks spring to life that his younger brother was going to grow into a tough cookie, and he feared to see the day Cairo would grow recluse—and for entirely different reasons, he would later come to know.

When Cairo first got out of school and had little to share about making friends, he’d jumped to the conclusion that his younger brother was loath to connect with anyone of less grit.

“Cairo, school’s a lot more fun when you make friends,” he told him the third day Cairo went home with no news.

“They’re boring,” said Cairo, dribbling a volleyball where he sat on the floor of London’s room.

“Why do you say that?”

“They’re not cool like you, _kuya_.”

Upon hearing the words, ice settled in the pit of London’s stomach, never to thaw but only to grow. He didn’t know exactly what caused it, for then he used to believe he lived up to the image Cairo had of him, but as the moon waxed and waned he realized he never was as _cool_ as Cairo made him out to be, never the image Cairo’s then impressionable mind was molded into believing: that London wasn’t just an older brother but a great one, if not the world’s greatest.

***

For a while he could keep up. For a while he wanted to prove he could be someone Cairo could have faith in.

 _“Kuya,_ let’s play.”

London kicked at the floor, sending his swivel chair flying from his bedside table. Cairo’s eyebrows scrunched, one of the first expressions he developed when the concept of _obnoxious_ was concretized through London’s innumerable examples. At the time London didn’t know better; it was just another habit that painted Cairo endearing and encouraged the silly out of him, but thinking back to it, he should’ve known Cairo was learning, cataloguing tiny, little things to the repertoire that would shape his judgment, his being.

The chair came to a halt as London pressed both feet on the ground. He wriggled in the seat and turned to Cairo, serious. “I have a question for you, Cairo.”

His brother jutted out his chin, his frown rendered more severe. “What is it, _kuya?”_

“Why do you like playing volleyball?”

“Because you like it and you look cool when playing.”

London was less wise then, so he didn’t hear the unspoken words. “But you need at least six more people to play volleyball.”

Cairo’s scowl turned deeper.

London abandoned his chair and plopped down next to his brother on the bed. He reached out to muss his dark hair, the same shade as his own. Cairo grumbled underneath his breath at the gesture but didn’t make a move to bat London’s hand away. From babyhood he had always loved it when London petted his head; Cairo was just less fervent about it now.

“Listen, Cairo,” said London, smiling at Cairo’s sourpuss face. “You’ve seen my matches, right?”

Cairo nodded, furrowed eyebrows not budging.

“Why do you think I enjoy playing in matches?”

“Because it’s fun hitting spikes and scoring points.”

London’s smile widened at the chaste response. “Well, that’s true, but can you think of anything else?”

Cairo was silent for a long while, and London was patient with him, aware that more than being unable to come up with an answer, Cairo was reluctant to admit it.

“Because you’re playing with a team.”

London’s face split in half. “What a clever kid,” he said to Cairo, clapping him on the back. Cairo wheezed. “Come on, then.”

***

London believed that if he toiled enough to be the best student, the best athlete, the best son who stuck to his mother’s nutritive meal choices (that he found Cairo was most resistant to emulate), and the _kuya_ who could listen to any of Cairo’s stories and wrestle them out when he had to, he would earn and keep the title of the Best _Kuya_ in the Universe.

Of course, it was not enough.

“There were some kids bullying a classmate,” said Cairo one night after dinner, when both of them were drowned in schoolwork.

“What did you do?”

“I said they were being lame.”

Cairo had always been a little too sharp-tongued and London had feared that one day the smart aleck would land himself in hot water if he wasn’t being careful.

“What happened then?” he said, risking a glance at Cairo through the corner of his eyes, dreading the anticipated answer.

Cairo shrugged, rolling over to lie on his stomach in London’s bed. He turned a page of the book he was perusing for homework. “They called me names.”

“What names?”

London must’ve imagined it, but Cairo’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. “Doesn’t matter. They didn’t manage to make me cry.”

“And if they did?” London said slowly, being careful. “You know that it’s okay to cry, right?”

Cairo frowned. “That’s not very manly, is it?”

London couldn’t answer right away and he took so long to come up with a response to _that,_ apparently long enough for Cairo to decide to drop the subject.

“I met someone today. He also likes volleyball.”

Even though he still wasn’t ready to hang a left, London took the out. “Yeah? What’s his position?”

“Outside hitter.”

“Ooh, that’s perfect! You finally have someone to practice your sets and blocks with!”

“He’s very chatty though.”

“Sounds like a handful. What’s the name?”

“Gavreel.”

“Sounds like the name of a guardian angel.”

“That was dropped from the sky, sure.”

“Please don’t tell me you told him that,” London said, more to himself than to Cairo since he already knew the answer.

“I actually did.”

“And what did he say?”

“That I don’t seem the type to need a legit guardian angel anyway.”

“Well,” London said, smiling despite himself, “he must have nerves of steel, being able to rise to your zingers like that.”

“He’s just extremely annoying.”

London chuckles. “Whatever you say, baby brother. When am I going to meet him?”

“We plan to play for a bit this Saturday.”

“I’ll join you both, then. I can serve.”

“Game, but don’t go too hard on us,” Cairo said, and they lapsed into silence, peaceful and quiet until London remembered why he was so excited to meet Cairo’s new friend.

***

London realized within five minutes of meeting Gavreel that the boy was the sort his brother would _never_ form an alliance with unless he was held at gunpoint. Where Cairo had a perpetual frown plastered on his face, Gavreel never seemed to tire of smiling and laughing, baby fat-laden cheeks always about to burst with how hard he grinned. Where Cairo was easily incensed, Gavreel was patient as a saint (a guardian angel, the boy even quipped, wagging his eyebrows so Cairo’s glower grew even more severe). Where Cairo was all denial, cleverly disguised in snark, Gavreel was unapologetically forthcoming.

The more time he spent watching Gavreel interact with his brother, the more London grew convinced that it was through their being polar opposites that Gavreel was able to bulldoze into Cairo’s defenses in the first place. And Cairo might not look like the most willing victim of the Gavreel Infestation, but his brother was more than willing to engage in verbal volleyball with the kid. That Cairo was willing to play _actual_ volleyball was the cherry on top.

 _Friend_. London wasn’t even sure if his brother realized that Gavreel was his first friend, or if Cairo would even endeavor to address him as that. In fact, Cairo was very generous with alternatives, calling Gavreel anything but _that._

 _“Idiot,_ what did I say about trusting me when I toss to you?” Cairo yelled when Gavreel missed another one.

“Cai, I told you I can only jump _that_ high,” Gavreel responded, pouting. He grabbed the hem of his shirt to wipe at his sweaty forehead, squinting as he looked skyward, perhaps to utter a silent prayer. London couldn’t blame him; Cairo was pushing Gavreel a little too far.

“Why’d you have to be such a shortie anyway.”

Having a penchant for theatrics, Gavreel threw himself on the hot concrete and thrashed about. Cairo clicked his tongue, playfully kicking the ball so it bounced off on Gavreel’s side. Gavreel proceeded to play dead, and Cairo sat on his stomach for a good three minutes before Gavreel screamed murder.

Later, when they seemed to have finished play fighting away their mounting frustration, London pulled the two of them to the side.

“Listen here, Cai. What you said earlier about trust, you can’t expect that from Gavreel when you don’t give him time to adjust to your tosses. He will have a learning curve, and for you to be the best duo there is, you’ll also have to learn to take advantage of his current skill set, do you understand?”

“Yes, _kuya_ ,” Cairo said in a tone that told London that he _didn’t_ understand at all.

London decided to let his brother ruminate on that by himself instead of pushing it. He turned to Gavreel. “And Gav, you’ll have to forgive my brother. I’m sure he just wants you to realize your true potential.”

“Don’t worry, _kuya_ ,” Gavreel said, swinging an arm around Cairo’s shoulders so the taller boy was forced to stoop down. He gave the shell-shocked setter a bone-rattling shake. “I’ll grow tall soon and in no time I’ll be able to catch all his tosses.”

Cairo glared in response to Gavreel’s good-natured grin but didn’t say anything else, instead jerking his head to the direction of the net. Gavreel instantly understood, and the two of them got back to business.

It would take a while before they found their rhythm, but looking at the two of them now, all sweaty and sun-kissed, peace washed over London.

***

Gavreel didn’t grow taller alright, but Cairo took London’s advice and ran with it as though his ankles were on fire. Gavreel took no time at all to completely trust Cairo’s choices, and in response, Cairo became less hesitant to speak his mind instead of shushing Gavreel’s inquiries, a lot more willing to be a partner than just another player in court.

It started out with Cairo budging into London’s room to seek advice after a particularly taxing day at practice, equipped with questions mostly about improving the precision of his tosses so he didn’t push Gavreel over the limit, _but_ hard enough to edge him towards improvement. And London was there to hold his brother’s hand every time; if there was anything that he dreaded, it would be the day his brother no longer needed him.

A few weeks into this routine, London noticed that Cairo would grow silent and fidget about as they closed their sessions. And knowing him the way only _kuyas_ did, London suspected every time that he had a question that wasn’t volleyball-related. Instead, it involved a curly-haired boy whose name apparently meant “angel of peace”—a factoid that slipped out of Cairo one day without prompting and that London didn’t read too deeply into until his brother had retreated back to his room.

In hindsight, London should’ve probably asked what was bothering Cairo. But he didn’t, half the time because he feared he had no ready answers, half the time because he felt he was one clumsy step away from saying the last thing Cairo needed to hear.

He saw the moment everything shifted and he dreaded he would only sever his already fragile relationship with his brother. Somehow, Cairo still believed that his _Kuya_ London was half the shadow of the _kuya_ he used to be. What Cairo didn’t know was that the moment he first chose to shut out those who _differed,_ London had struggled to stand beside his brother. And what Cairo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, so London kept his silence.

Besides, it was never Cairo’s fault. He could and should never blame Cairo for the times London felt that his brother was only putting up with him because he had to by virtue of kinship and not much else. _Because_ he’d gotten used to it. And perhaps London should’ve been a little less afraid. Blood, after all, is thicker than water.

At the end of the day, London was the coward between them two.

Over time, Cairo’s post-practice visits became less frequent. His world expanded with the introduction of other friends deemed worthy of his attention. Soon enough, there were tales of Wesley and Risa and Terrence and Pearl. But never quite enough of Gavreel; Cairo always came home with a new anecdote. If London felt a pang of jealousy, he didn’t make it obvious.

He _was_ ecstatic to hear Cairo made other friends. It rid him of the guilt of being less present as Cairo’s first and foremost best friend, not that it saved him from the heartbreak that he knew would come but made no effort to prevent.

***

When Cairo went home one afternoon with a bruised lip that he chalked up to being _accidentally_ hit with a volleyball in the face, London called bluff in his head. It didn’t help Cairo’s case when London _accidentally_ heard what could only be the sound of crying ten minutes later, drowned by the sound of the shower.

If he didn’t know better, he would think the scuffle had to do with volleyball’s not being the sport of choice among teenage boys. But Cairo hadn’t been affected by the typical taunts in years, so London knew that this time, it had everything to do with _that._

London hated it, not being able to even _think_ it, much less name it, when he could see it in the way Cairo loudly complained about Gavreel’s height with an undertone of fondness that London didn’t have to strain at all to hear. He could see it when Gavreel would lean all the way into Cairo’s space and not suffer Cairo’s repulsed shoving and expletives. He saw it every time Cairo schooled his face to its default I-Hate-People setting whenever he caught himself smiling after a particularly beautiful spike that Gavreel, always so liberal with praises reserved for Cairo and Cairo only, would thank his toss for.

He hated this. But he hated himself even more for not making Cairo feel safe enough to budge into his room, throw himself on his bed and cry, for making Cairo feel that he had no other choice but to weep into the bathroom tiles and muffle the sound.

He didn’t know where to start or how, but this time, London resolved to allow himself the chance to make a mistake. He wasn’t the best _kuya_ in the universe, but he could at least try to be the best _kuya_ for Cairo.

London owed him that much. He didn’t ask to be born to after London, and Cairo could only have one _kuya_ in this lifetime.

***

“Cairo?” London called softly, pressing his ear to the wood after knocking on Cairo’s door. His younger brother had exited the bathroom a while ago, but it took taken London at least an hour before he could muster the courage to quit his room and cross the hallway to Cairo’s.

No answer.

London held his breath and tried the cold, cold knob. It was unlocked. He inhaled sharply, realization dawning upon him—Cairo was just waiting for someone, _anyone,_ to reach out all this time.

He opened the door slowly. Cairo was curled on top of his bed, his back turned to London. The door made no sound as London closed it with all the care in the world so as not to shatter the heavy silence, locking it behind him.

A beat. Both of them drew twin breaths.

“If you’re here to call me on my bluff,” Cairo began, because between them two, he had always been braver, “don’t bother. We all know I’m an open book.” Cairo sniffed, clearing his throat that was probably as waterlogged as it had been the moment he emerged from the shower.

“That’s not what I came here for,” London said, not quite sure if this was the right thing to say, but hoping his tone got his point across. “Cai, I’m not sure how to approach this but, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

Cairo sniffed again. “Like what?”

London took a stuttering breath, walking the three paces from the door to the edge of Cairo’s bed. “Can I sit?” he asked.

Cairo took his time, and London was about to book it but then there was a curt hum echoing in the silence.

“How about,” London said, carefully seating himself so he didn’t jostle Cairo too much, “how about you tell me the actual reason you got hurt?”

“Some stupid basketball jocks were trying to evict from the gym,” Cairo was quick to say as though he’d rehearsed this alibi a million times in his head before.

“And then?”

Cairo was still speaking in a voice that bordered on dismissive. “I tried to talk to them. Gavreel tried to help, but it got rowdy. They called us names. I think I called them morons.”

“Who threw the first punch?”

“Not me, or Gav or Wes or Terrence. We just hung back. I think Pearl and Risa called for a teacher. The jerks ran, but not before throwing a basketball at me and calling us a—calling us something stupid. It was stupid.”

London did not miss the way Cairo seemed to curl further into a ball after almost slipping. “Did you get in trouble?”

“No, the teacher saw that I was the only one with an injury.”

“Are you still in pain?”

“It was nothing.”

London didn’t know Cairo like the back of his hand but he knew him enough to know when he was lying through his teeth. “Sometimes I forget you’re a tough cookie.”

Cairo was silent.

“But Cairo,” London continued before he could lose his nerve. “Could you be honest with me?”

Cairo made no movement, or sound.

“What did they call you?”

There was quiet, except for the whir of the fan that glanced Cairo’s disheveled hair every now and then to reveal swollen eyes. “Just… something really stupid, _kuya_.”

Somebody help him; London hoped he didn’t botch his only chance by pulling this card. “If it was so stupid, why can’t you tell me?”

There was a gurgling noise that came from Cairo, and then his brother’s shoulders started shaking.

Bile rose to London’s chest. _Wrong move, wrong move._ “Oh shit, Cairo, I didn’t mean—”

“They called us _gay, kuya,”_ Cairo forced out through gritted teeth, his pain so palpable that London’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Now you know why I couldn’t tell you.”

And London heard the unspoken, _Because saying it makes it true._

He hated himself even more now. Why did he let it become so unspeakable? Why did he let other people claim ownership of the word when he could’ve taught Cairo that it was okay, that it didn’t matter, that he could wear it without fear? Why did he force it out of him like this?

Cairo was weeping again, and London couldn’t do anything but watch him crumble before him. How could he do this to him? What kind of _kuya_ allowed this?

London had no idea what else to say apart from, “I’m so sorry, Cairo.”

“Sorry for what? That I turned out to be gay?”

“No!” London said, more forceful than he would’ve liked. “I’m sorry for many things but never that. Never that, Cairo. We don’t get to choose who we are."

 _The same way you didn’t choose to be born after me, to have a_ kuya _like me._

“But you knew,” Cairo whispered, turning his head so his face was pressed to his pillow. “You knew.”

“I did,” London confirmed, just as softly, feeling even smaller now. “I did and I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to make you feel safe. And I'm sorry for not letting you tell me when you're ready.”

Cairo wailed into his pillow. London wanted to wrap him in his arms, but he feared he would only get pushed away, which was so messed up because he knew that if he didn’t make a move, Cairo would only assume the worst—that he found him repulsive, that he found him untouchable.

So London settled with patting him on the shoulder, all the while grappling with the right words. In the end, all he could come up with was a quiet, aquiver, “You know that I don’t see you any different, right?”

Cairo scoffed—a good sign, in London’s book. “That’s a lie.”

London blinked. “No, for real, you’re still my annoying baby brother. Whose crush on Gavreel is the size of the planet.”

Cairo jerked his head from the pillow, staring at London in all his snotty glory. _“Kuya!”_

Even London was surprised with himself, but seeing Cairo’s response, his lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. “What? You’re not the most discreet,” he said. “Gavreel’s got it just as bad.”

 _“Kuya!”_ Cairo seemed to have lost the ability to speak anything but that, and London stretched out his hand to smother his brother’s face, reddened for various reasons. Cairo grabbed his wrist, lifting away the huge hand so he could glare at London. The intended effect was watered down by the way Cairo looked like a rain-soaked puppy trying to intimidate a bulldog.

“I'm not even sure if I should've said all that and I do apologize, I'm flying blindly here,” London said, letting his hand wander to Cairo’s head instead so he could card his fingers through the damp, tangled tresses. "But you can be honest with me, okay? I’m just as lost as you are, but I will do my best to learn along with you, understood?”

Cairo bit his bottom lip as it shook once more, the telltale signs of another bout of crying. And London shouldn’t be so happy, but seeing his brother be this vulnerable before him made him feel less of a failure. Maybe this time he was doing something right.

“But what about mom and dad?”

London knew that Cairo was talking more about the conversation that would have to be had rather than the confession. They both knew their parents were already aware. Nothing could go past them, especially their mom.

“I’m not your _kuya_ for nothing, am I?” London said. “At least let me make it up to you?”

Cairo shut his eyes, exhaled, and London promptly followed upon receiving affirmation with a small nod.

“Now, where do those punks live? I’ll have to do some beating.” London flexed his arms, winking at Cairo.

His brother rolled his eyes. “You’re so full of shit, _kuya_.”

And London wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for my first entry for CaiReel Week! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did (even if painstakingly) writing it. Thoughts? Violent reactions? Feel free to let me know! (And, if it counts, I speak Tagalog, too, so kung gusto n'yong mag-iwan ng komento in Tagalog, gora lang!)
> 
> You may also yell at me on Twitter, if you prefer: [@_bspctcldwrites](https://twitter.com/_bspctcldwrites/). 
> 
> Hope you tune in for my fics for the rest of the week!


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